A Bad Day
by FreerunnerChez
Summary: Ed's having another bad day. And he's not the only one. Semi Ed-Centric
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Flashpoint or any of it's characters. They won't let me. Coz I don't share.

**Warnings: **Rated T for some coarse language in places, and because there may be some violence later on

**Other: **This might take a little longer to write than my last fan fic (Leverage), since I'm working on a couple of other projects at the same time, but I'll try not to keep you waiting too long between chapters. Thanks to the wonderful SAR132-4 for agreeing to Beta Read for me - it takes a brave person to tackle my typos and spelling mistakes, and I can't thank her enough for her patience.

* * *

"Maybe you should take a holiday, relax a little. You've been pretty worked up the last few weeks."

The car rolled to a stop, and Ed answered his teammate with only a piercing stare.

"I'm just saying," Wordy pressed, "that it might do you some good to get away from it."

The boss had called patrol night; the shift seemed to have gone on for weeks, and the two cops were taking advantage of a quiet period to run an errand. Sophie had come down with a bad flu bug and implored her husband to pick up her medication. Ed, powerless to resist a damsel in distress – not to mention keen to avoid catching the virus – had relented. It had been going fine until Wordy had tried to offer the stressed team leader some advice.

"I'm fine," Ed ground out. He met Wordy's eye and the other man let it drop, sensing he would not convince his teammate. Ed swung the car door open before Wordy could argue further, leaving his weapons inside the vehicle as he stepped into the cool night air. Behind the team leader's retreating back, Wordy smiled ruefully and shook his head.

Ed pushed the chemist door open and stepped inside, allowing his eyes to adjust to the poor lighting. He glanced across at the counter where only one person stood waiting to be served – not many people visited a pharmacist in this area at 10 o clock at night, he reflected grimly. Forcing his irritation at Wordy's interference aside, he headed for the painkiller aisle, scanning the shelves for Sophie's preferred brand.

The bell rang as another customer pushed through the doors. Ed felt a vague sense of unease as he took in the baseball cap topped with a hood, shadowing the man's face so that under the chemist's cheap lighting it was impossible to make out any of his features. He felt his heartbeat quicken in response to the perceived threat as he watched the subject's every move. A quick step backwards concealed him from sight behind a shelf stacked high with medicines, and his hand reached towards his headset. And that's when he realised what he was doing. He snapped himself out of it, shaking his head in disbelief. Maybe Wordy was right. He was overreacting, starting to see threats where there weren't any. Loads of kids dressed like that, it didn't mean they were all criminals. Hell, for all he knew, Clark might dress like that.

He resolved to give that holiday Sophie had been after some more thought when his shift was through. It would probably do them both some good. Much as he hated to admit it, the team would survive a week without him. Well, maybe just a long weekend…

He heard raised voices as he made to rejoin the queue, and saw the hoody at the counter. He stepped back behind the shelf, straining his ears to catch each word.

"Put it in the bag, now!"

He peered out, taking in the scene that was unfolding before him, and that was when the poor light reflected on metal. A gun. Ducking back into the aisle, his hand went to his headset once more, this time activating it as he spoke in hushed tones.

"Wordy, we've got a gunman. Young, male, looks like he's alone. Weapon is a handgun, do you copy?"

"Copy that," cut in Greg's voice over the radio. "Wordy, what's your location?"

"Baltries Pharmacy on Hart road," Wordy replied, quickly gathering his wits.

"All units to Hart road. Stealth approach, no sirens, let's not give him reason to panic. Ed, stay out of sight and keep us updated. We're on our way."

Ed opened his mouth to reply and the gunshot rang out loud and clear across the radio.

"Ed?" Greg hailed him urgently.

"Hostage has been hit, repeat, hostage has been shot," Ed whispered in response. "Greg, he's escalating, I've got to do something."

Greg felt his heart sink. The last thing he wanted was Ed putting himself in harm's way, unarmed. But he knew they had no choice. By the time the rest of team one arrived on the scene, it would be too late.

"Ok," he conceded. "But be careful. When he sees your uniform he's going to panic. He's probably pretty scared right now, so let him know that he can trust you. Show him that you're human. Remember, I'll be right here, so just slow him down."

"Copy," came Ed's taut response as he fought against the adrenaline his body was pumping into his system. He took a breath to steady his nerves, reminding himself that he could not calm the subject if he himself was hyped up. Slowly, and with his hands clearly in view by his sides, he stepped out from behind the shelf.

"Hey," he announced his presence. The gunman spun to face the cop, eyes wide as saucers, and grabbed a nearby hostage. He pulled the unresisting doctor in front of him, holding his gun to the man's temple. Fear radiated from the hostage taker, who Ed now noted could not be much more than 20. Ed raised his hands in response.

"Just take it easy," he intoned calmly.

"Where did you come from?" the gunman demanded wildly, his eyes scanning the shadows for other concealed cops.

"I didn't come for you," Ed assured him. "My wife's sick, I came to pick up her medicine. I've got the prescription right here, see?" Keeping one hand raised, he reached slowly into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled prescription.

"You're doing good Eddie," Greg encouraged him through his radio.

"I don't know what's going on here," Ed continued, "but I know you didn't mean for the gun to go off. So let me help you."

The kid shoved the hostage away and pointed his gun at Ed. That was ok, as long as the gunman was focused on him, Ed was confident he could keep him from escalating further.

"Take your radio off," he demanded.

Ed hesitated for a moment, aware that handing over the device could compromise his team – and leave him isolated from them – but he had no choice. With a slow nod he raised one hand to the headset, keeping the other perfectly still.

"Ok, I'm taking it off." Slowly he pulled it from his head and held it out. The gunman snatched it from him, and gave it a brief glance before tossing it aside, where it collided with the wall and clattered to the floor. His gun never left Ed, and now he squared up to the cop.

"Get down on your knees," he ordered, emboldened by his easy victory.

"Ok," Ed assented, for the first time a note of fear creeping into his voice. He knew he had to take back control of the negotiation before it reached a bloody conclusion. He forced his face to remain impassive as he groped for something to say. He had been in situations like this many times before; he prayed he would live long enough to work out how to stop getting into them. Keeping his palms level with his shoulders, he lowered himself slowly onto his knees, warily eyeing the gun that remained level with his head throughout. He forced himself to look past the barrel of the weapon to its owner.

"You must be going through a rough time," he said, "to make you come in here, with a gun. But you know what, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter why you did it. What matters is the choice you make right now. And the only smart thing you can do is put the gun down. Put the gun down and we'll walk out of here together."

The youth was silent for a moment, and Ed watched indecision flicker across his eyes.

"Stay there – don't move," the subject warned him with a glance at the door.

"I'm staying right here," Ed assured him calmly.

The boy held the gun at arm's length and kept it pointed at the cop, but the extended limb began to waver. Ed watched him silently, breathing slowly and keeping his face calm. He didn't want the subject to overreact to a glance or twitch – it would take him only a split second of panic to squeeze the trigger, and at this distance he couldn't miss. Fear radiated from the hooded youth as he backed away, his eyes flicking amongst the hostages and back to the cop. He reached the exit and slipped outside into the night. Before the door had closed, Ed's hands were down and he hurried across the shop floor, crouching beside the injured man.

"You're gonna be fine buddy. Help's on its way."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"He's coming out." Wordy spoke into his radio with a soft urgency as he saw the door start to open. Barely ten minutes had passed since he had arrived outside the pharmacy with his team leader and in that time, everything had changed. He didn't even know if his friend was still alive, and later guilt would gnaw at him for leaving his teammate so exposed, but as he watched the gunman emerge from the pharmacy, his calm was absolute. He stood half shielded behind the door of the SUV with his weapon trained on the subject. When he spoke, there was no trace of emotion in his voice.

"Police Strategic Response Unit. Drop your weapon!"

The hooded figure spun to face him, his gun swinging up to point at the cop. A cop with less experience or courage may have fired his weapon right then, but Wordy's finger was steady and his voice calm.

"Put your weapon down. No one else needs to get hurt here."

His voice hung in the crisp night air between them as the youth stared silently at him, wild eyed and unpredictable. His hand groped behind him and fell on the door handle.

"Don't move!" Wordy warned him, some part of his mind aware that he had a clear shot, but as the subject slipped back inside, he didn't take it. The job was about saving lives, not taking them.

"Sarge, he's gone back in."

*

Ed was kneeling alongside the doctor as they worked on the semi conscious form of the injured man. The cop's gloved hand was smeared with blood as he held a pack on the wound. As the bell above the door sounded, he looked up, expecting to see Wordy. It took a moment to register what he was seeing, and in that time the gunman was on him. Before he had time to recover from his surprise, a hand wrapped around his throat and propelled him backwards. His back slammed against a wall, protected from the brunt of the impact by his vest, and the grip around his neck tightened. The barrel of the gun his hovered just an inch from his eyes, and he forced himself to go very still.

"What did you do?" the aggressor demanded, spittle flying as he shouted in fury.

"I haven't done anything," Ed attempted to placate the gunman. "I'm just trying to help that man."

"So you tell me," the gunman ground out, "why there's a cop out there, with a gun, dressed just like you!"

"He's my partner. He was waiting for me; he must have heard the gunshot."

"You're lying!" came the accusation.

"I wouldn't do that," Ed told him calmly, making eye contact. The youth held his gaze, searching his eyes for answers. At length, he seemed satisfied and his hand released its grip on Ed's neck. Ed remained still.

"But he'll call others?" the youth probed.

"Yeah."

"Shit, shit!" He spun on his heel in frustration. Ed saw the opportunity but didn't take it – he knew as well as anyone the chances of a gun going off in a struggle. He couldn't risk another innocent bystander being caught in the crossfire. The time for tactics would come later, but right now his only choice was talk.

"But that doesn't mean this has to end badly," he said, smoothly drawing the escalated subject's attention back onto himself. "I meant what I said earlier. We can walk out of here together without anyone else getting hurt. No one has to die today."

"Shut up," the youth ordered distractedly. "I need to think."

Ed nodded silently, knowing this was a good thing. When he thought things through, Ed knew he could only come to one conclusion – anything other than putting his gun down was suicide. The boy didn't strike him as someone wanting to die. As the cop watched, the criminal paced the floor silently like a caged animal. He allowed his eyes to drift to the four other hostages sitting across the room. The doctor was frozen in the same position he had been in when the gunman had burst back through the doors, but his eyes were locked on the scene unfolding before him. Ed met his gaze and the eye contact seemed to snap the man out of his trance. He pressed a pad into the hands of another customer, and held them where Ed's had been just moments before. Ed gave a slight nod, hoping it conveyed his approval: the hostages seemed to be looking to him for direction.

"You got a phone?" The gunman's voice cut through Ed's thoughts, and the cop consciously stifled the instinct to reach into his pocket and check, knowing the reflex could provoke a reaction from the slowly de-escalating subject.

"Yeah," he answered calmly, anticipating the subject's next move.

"Give it to me."

Without taking his eyes off the hooded figure, Ed raised one hand in supplication and lowered the other slowly into his pocket. His fingers wrapped around the device and carefully drew it out, giving the nervous gunman plenty of time to see that it was not a weapon. A hand reached out and snatched it from him, and he wondered idly if the SRU bothered to insure the devices: he doubted he would be seeing it again.

"Over there, with the others," the youth instructed, eyeing the cop warily. Ed slowly crossed the shop floor to join the other hostages, and positioned himself in their midst. He wanted to ensure he could stop any have a-go-heroes getting themselves shot. The rest of the team would get there soon – he just had to make sure the situation didn't escalate before they did. He glanced down at the blood drying on his gloves, and wondered grimly how much more would be spilt before the day was through.

Across the shop floor the subject began dialling a number into the phone. As the device rang soft against his ear, he paced the floor nervously, tapping the gun against his thigh and shooting threatening glances at the hostages. Ed watched the signs of agitation from the corner of his eye – experience told him risking eye contact would be a mistake right now – and wondered who the subject could be calling to make him more nervous than the imminent arrival of a highly trained SWAT team. He strained his ears to catch the snippets of the conversation that drifted to him.

"It's me." There was a brief pause as the boy listened to the response.

"No. Not yet." He looked and sounded like a school kid called into the headmaster's office as he made the confession, and Ed wondered if he was being interrogated by a gang member.

"Yeah, I know. I've got a problem. I-" He stopped abruptly, silenced by whoever was on the other end of the line.

"I'm not, I swear! I just need a bit more time. Please!" No-one could miss the note of desperation in his voice, or the haunted look in his eyes. Whatever had been said, it had not gone in his favour. He pulled the phone away from his ear and turned to glare at the hostages. Ed was careful to keep his eyes averted as he strode past the small group and tossed the phone on the counter. He stared at the bag he had abandoned there earlier for a long moment before coming to a decision. Snatching it up, he stalked back to the hostages and dropped it at the doctor's feet.

"Fill it up," he demanded. "Diazepam, Morphine, Epinephrine, Vicodin – you know what to get."

The doctor scrambled to his feet clutching the holdall and edged away from the gunman towards the store room door. The boy watched him disappear through it with cold eyes before walking behind the counter and cramming the contents of the till into his pockets.

*

Officer Callaghan's face gave nothing away as she steered the SUV through the sparse traffic. It were her eyes that betrayed her fear, and she was glad that she was driving; glad of the excuse to hide them from her teammates.

She was not alone in her fear. Sam Braddock stared blankly out of the vehicle's window, watching without seeing as the traffic fell behind them. He was no master of concealing his emotions like Jules, and his fear was etched deeply into his face.

Greg Parker, the most seasoned and senior officer in the car, handled his fear a little differently. His face was passive, a mirror to anyone looking at it, as he prepared himself for what would undoubtedly be a tricky negotiation. In a way, his fear was worse because it would be his words – his decisions and negotiations – that would ultimately decide his friend's fate. And yet, his fear was lessened for the same reason.

An oppressive silent filled the car, heavy with anticipation and fear. They all put themselves in harm's way on a daily basis – it was part of the job, as much as the imposing weapons and the cool pants. But to do so unarmed was a risk no sane person should take. Ed's decision had been unfathomable – but not one of them could say that in his shoes, they wouldn't have made the same call.

As Jules brought the SUV to a halt in the pharmacy's car park the three frozen figures came to life.

"Jules, you're Sierra One. Set up a sniper perch covering the front of the store," Greg instructed. With a swift nod and a "copy" the sniper was out of the car and heading to retrieve her Remmy. The other two cops climbed out after her, Greg not pausing in his instructions as the crisp night air hit him.

"I'll be negotiating. Sam, you're my second in the command truck." He glanced up in time to see Wordy approaching.

"Wordy, brief the ambulance crew and make sure they keep out of sight. I don't want our subject getting any ideas." Wordy nodded and disappeared again.

"Spike, Leah, what's your ETA?"

"Five minutes boss," Spike replied over the radio. "Save us a good seat."

"Copy that." Greg took a breath and forced an air of confidence into his stride as he walked towards the command truck. It promised to be a long night.


	3. Chapter 3

Note: Sorry this has taken so long to do, unfortunately work and uni have been getting in the way. I promise not to keep you waiting so long next time, hope you enjoy! Feedback (good and bad) appreciated as always.

Chapter 3

Inside the pharmacy, the storeroom door slowly opened, and the doctor stepped hesitantly through. His face paled just slightly as he saw the pistol pointed at him, and he stopped abruptly. The gunman shifted his aim to the SRU officer.

"Give me your vest," he ordered, and the cop's eyes widened infinitesimally as he realised what the youth intended.

"You don't want to do this," Ed said softly, meeting his eye. "If you go out there like this, you know what's going to happen."

"I don't have a choice," the boy replied, breaking eye contact.

"Just think about what you're doing. This place is surrounded by trained men. They don't miss. It's suicide."

"I don't have a choice!" the gunman repeated angrily.

"Whatever you're doing this for, it's not worth it, ok? It's not worth it."

"I don't expect you to understand," the boy retorted. "Just give me the vest."

"So explain it to me."

"Give me the vest." He levelled the gun at the doctor. "Or do I have to shoot someone before you do what I say?" he challenged, his eyes boring into Ed's.

"Ok," Ed relented with a slight nod. He started unstrapping the vest, noticing the tension visibly leaving both gunman and doctor. He slowly lifted it over his head, and watched in silence as the boy pulled it on over his hoody. His body suddenly felt light and exposed without the comforting weight of the Kevlar, and it took him a long second to suppress the wave of fear that threatened to engulf him.

He watched as the gunman snatched the medication-packed bag and slung it on his back. His hand shot out and grabbed the doctor by the shoulder of his white jacket.

"Let's go Doc."

The doctor froze in response to the unexpected turn of events, and Ed seized the opportunity. He rose swiftly to his feet, drawing the gunman's attention back onto himself.

"Take me instead," he offered, forcing his posture to remain unthreatening. "Let the doctor stay here and treat him," he added with a glance at the injured man. The youth paused, undecided, then gave the doctor a shove, sending him stumbling towards the injured hostage. The gun flicked quickly, defensively, towards the cop.

"Put your hands on your head," he ordered nervously, motioning with the gun that the officer should walk in front of him to the door.

"Thank you," Ed said sincerely, as he interlocked his fingers behind his head. He knew he was running out of time to find a point of connection with the subject; he had no idea why he was so keen to risk his life in a futile escape bid. His instincts were screaming at him that something wasn't right, but all his attempts to make the subject open up had failed.

A shrill ringing pierced the tense silence, and Ed saw the youth jump slightly at the sound; he was close to snapping. Ed hoped Greg had seen the reaction through the CCTV. Indecision creased the subject's face and his eyes flickered from Ed to the store's phone and back.

"Back over there." He motioned to the rest of the hostages with the weapon, and Ed cautiously made his way to rejoin them, dropping his arms back to his sides and sitting amongst the nervous group. The subject watched him for a moment before picking up the phone carefully as though it might burn him. He slowly lifted the receiver to his ear.

"Yeah?"

"Hi, my name's Sergeant Greg Parker, I'm with the Police Strategic Response Unit," Greg introduced himself. "Who am I talking to?"

Silence filled the line for a long five seconds before Greg spoke again.

"That's ok, you don't have to talk to me," he assured the silence. "But I'm here to help you, and I can't do that unless you talk to me."

"How?"

A relieved smile crossed Greg's face, but his voice was serious when he spoke.

"I want this to end peacefully, without anyone else getting hurt, and I know you want that too. If you talk to me, we can sort this out and we can all go home. You want to go home, right?"

"Yeah."

"So maybe we've got something to talk about then," Greg suggested.

"Mark, my name's Mark," the subject responded.

"Well Mark, it sounds like maybe you're having a bad day."

"You think?" the gunman snapped.

"Yeah, that's what I think," Greg sympathised. "I don't think you wanted this to happen. I think maybe everything just got out of hand. Tell me, is that what happened?"

"Yeah, something like that." Greg could hear some of the tension leave the subject's voice as he made the confession; he had expected an adversary in Greg and found a confidant.

"Something like that, huh?" Greg mirrored smoothly. "Well, I think we can work together to make it better. But for that to happen we need to be able to trust each other; we need to be honest with each other. So I'm going to be honest with you Mark. We heard a gun go off, and we're worried that someone might have been hurt by accident. Did someone get hurt?"

"It's like you said," the boy told him reluctantly. "It was an accident."

"Accidents happen," Greg assured him. "And that's ok, because now that we know, we can fix it. All you need to do is put your gun down and come out, and we can get him the help he needs."

"No! Tell your men to back off," Mark demanded.

"I can't do that Mark."

"I've got to get out of here now!"

"What's the rush? Talk to me Mark."

The dial tone sounded in the negotiator's ear as the boy slammed down the receiver in frustration. He turned to his second, unperturbed by the abrupt ending to the conversation.

"Ok Sam, so what do we do now?" he questioned, as though this were merely a training exercise, and six lives did not depend on their actions over the coming hours.

"Call him back?" Sam suggested. Greg shook his head.

"Not yet. He needs some time to process what's going on, overcome the adrenaline."

"What about the injured hostage?" the lower ranking cop questioned. Greg did not answer directly.

"What's the subject's state of mind?"

"He's scared. He wants to run away from what he's done." Greg nodded at the assessment.

"So how do we approach it?"

"Slow it down, give him time to calm down, gain his trust."

"By?" the negotiator prompted.

"Giving him something he wants."

"So what does he want?"

"To get out of there?" Sam asked uncertainly, wondering what the sergeant was suggesting.

"What else?" Greg questioned patiently.

"To take it back," Sam answered confidently, making the connection. "He doesn't want the pharmacist to die."

"Good," Greg said with a smile. "We'll make a negotiator of you yet."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"You should talk to him, Mark," Ed advised his captor. "He can help you."

The gunman shot him a sharp glance from across the shop floor.

"No," Mark replied. "He can't." The youth turned away abruptly, and picked up Ed's mobile phone from the counter. He hesitated for a moment, indecision written across his face, before tapping in a number.

"Come on, pick up, pick up..." he muttered impatiently, beginning to pace the floor. Ed watched the signs of agitation in silence, hoping Greg would be able to get through to the boy before it was too late.

"Jenny, it's me," he said, ceasing his pacing. "You've got to get out. Now."

Ed strained his ears, concerned by this new development.

"Go to your mum's. Don't pack anything, just go. Call me when you get there," he ordered. Ed wondered if Greg was picking up the conversation from outside, but knew the chances that his phone was being monitored were slim.

"You're not listening to me! Get out of the house now!" This Ed did not have to strain to hear. He heard the frustration in the shouted order, and wondered who "Jenny" was to him, to elicit such strong emotions despite the situation he was in.

"Just promise me," he begged, his voice barely above a whisper now. The other person's response seemed to placate him.

"I love you too," he whispered with longing.

He slowly pulled the phone away from his ear, staring morosely at the gun in his other hand. The cop watched him in silence, digesting this new information. He doubted that the gunman could be convinced to give himself up until he knew that "Jenny" had reached safety, and wondered if there was some way to alert Greg. If they could pick the girl up, Mark would have no reason to continue resisting them. He glanced sideways at his radio, abandoned on the floor where it had been thrown earlier. There was no way he could reach it without alerting his captor. No, the only way to reach Greg would be through Mark. He chose his words carefully, knowing he would get only one attempt to convince Mark that Jenny's best chance was if she were with Greg. He opened his mouth to speak, but a groan of pain ripped through the air.

The hooded gunman pivoted furiously to its source: the injured pharmacist. He raised the gun, but quickly turned it on the doctor.

"Shut him up," he demanded.

"He's dying!" the doctor retorted, his eyes blazing as anger overcame fear.

"So fix him," the youth growled.

"With what?" he demanded. "I need tools, bloods, medication – this isn't a hospital!"

"Fix him," Mark insisted, "or you'll be joining him."

The doctor's eyes flickered to the gun, and the anger left them, swiftly replaced by fear. Ed intervened quickly, before the situation could escalate further.

"Take it easy. He'll treat him. Doc?" He saw a flash of movement as the doctor nodded quickly in agreement, but did not take his eyes from the youth's face.

"But he's right; he can't treat him without the right equipment – things we don't have here."

Mark lowered the gun.

"Just keep him quiet – or I will," he promised. A shrill ringing pierced the tense silence, and the gunman's eyes flew to the silent phone in his hand, and then, dejected, they fell on the store phone. He walked reluctantly towards it, and dropped the blackberry on the counter. The gun he kept in his other hand. Slowly, he lifted the cheap plastic receiver to his ear, not bothering to speak.

"Hi Mark, it's Greg Parker again," Greg reintroduced himself to the silence. "How are you all doing in there?"

"Fine," Mark responded reluctantly. "We're fine." Greg was confident he knew the reason for the reluctance, and pressed on carefully. The admission had to come from the subject, and willingly.

"I'm glad to hear that. How about the injured man, how's he doing?"

The silence that followed told the negotiator that he was on the right track, and he allowed it to stretch for just a couple of seconds – long enough to let the hostage taker's guilt to build.

"His name's Gary, and his family are worried about him."

"He's not doing so good," Mark muttered at length.

"I have someone out here who thinks he can help. His name is John and he's a paramedic."

"Do you think I'm stupid?" the gunman growled. "It's gonna take more than an EMT costume to get a cop in here!"

"Come on Mark, you know I wouldn't do that," Greg said, rubbing his fingers against his temple. "I just want to help Gary, and you."

"No one is coming in here!"

"Ok, I hear you. Maybe there's another way we can fix this." Mark was silent. Greg knew that was a good sign – it meant the subject was still open to suggestion.

"I see you've got a doctor in there who's been trying to help Gary. How about we get him what he needs, how does that sound?"

Suspicion raced across the boy's features, followed swiftly by relief. HHHHe hadn't expected this concession without a fight.

"Yeah, that sounds good," he answered.

"Ok, good, that's great Mark. I know Gary's family will be really grateful that you're looking out for him. We're gonna get those supplies for you, and bring them over to you as soon as we can. Do you want me to talk you through what's going to happen?"

"Yeah."

"Ok. Two of my men are going to come up to the door with the bag. I'm not going to lie to you, they're going to have weapons, but they're not there to hurt you, ok? They're going to wait outside the door until you're ready – you don't have to open it until you feel comfortable. They'll give you the bag, and then they'll leave."

"No," Mark demanded at once. "No guns, and only one cop."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Do what I say or the door stays shut."

The dial tone sounded in Greg's ear and he placed the phone back on the desk. He wasn't fooled by Mark's attitude: the boy was afraid, but that didn't make Greg's decision any easier. He lifted his hand and activated his headset.

"The subject has agreed to let a doctor treat the casualty if we provide the medical supplies. But he's nervous – he'll only allow one person to make the drop, unarmed. Now, you know I would never agree to this if I thought there was any chance of the subject opening fire, but we can't afford to lower our guard. Jules, you have scorpio if you need it."

"Sarge, let me make the drop," Jules volunteered.

"Jules, it's too risky," Sam argued immediately.

"Sarge, I can do this, I'm a woman, he'll see me as less of a threat."

"Ok, good," Greg agreed, ignoring Sam's outburst – emotions ran high when a crisis became personal. "Sam will relieve you. Wordy, head back to the truck. You're my second."

"Copy," Sam responded resentfully.

"Copy that," Jules replied cheerfully.

.

It took Sam only a few short minutes to jog to Jules' rooftop perch. His heart hammered, but not from the exertion of the run. How could Jules be this reckless? And how could the rest of the team stand back and let her? Was being shot once not enough for her? Hadn't she seen what it had put the rest of them through – put him through? He shook his head angrily and rounded the corner to where the female cop waited for him. He took a breath to bring his emotions under control, and signalled to her to switch her mic off. Jules obliged willingly, her eyes blazing.

"Jules, this is a bad idea," Sam started.

"If you _ever_ try to humiliate me in front of the team like that again…" she hissed at him. Sam took a step backwards, shocked by her anger.

"Humiliate you? What are you talking about Jules – can't you see I'm worried about you? You can't keep putting yourself in harm's way like this!"

"I don't need your protection Sam," Jules retorted, "or your permission."

"Jules," he implored softly in the face of her fury. "Please don't do this."

"I don't have time for this Sam," she snapped. She switched her mic back on, and Sam bit back his reply, eyeing her with frustration as he did the same.

"I'm on my way, Sarge," Jules said, turning and walking away from her ex-lover.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Ed silently watched the forlorn figure perched on the edge of the counter, tapping the gun on his thigh as he shot a glance at the door. He wondered who would make the drop, wondered which member of his team would be putting their life on the line, and wondered how he could keep the peace.

Fear was emanating from the boy, and Ed didn't have to be able to see his face to understand it. If he could just de-escalate him, reassure him, then there was a chance he could reduce the risk.

"Mark?" he called softly. The boy flinched at the sound of his name. Ed waited a moment before continuing.

"I know you're worried, but you don't have to be."

"How would you feel, with all those cops out there?" the boy demanded.

"I'd be scared," Ed acknowledged with a slight nod. "But you're doing a good thing Mark, they can see that. You've got nothing to be scared of."

"Easy for you to say – you're not the one going out there."

"Do you want me to be?" Ed asked.

"What, so they can give you something to take me out with?"

"That's not what we want Mark. Let me prove it to you, let's do this together."

Mark looked away, chewing his lower lip thoughtfully. Ed pressed on carefully.

"I just want to keep you safe, keep my team safe."

"Alright," the subject conceded slowly, eyeing Ed speculatively. "Get up."

Ed obeyed, rising slowly to his feet and keeping his eyes passive.

"But you do anything I don't tell you to…"

"I hear you." Ed slowly raised his hands until they were level with his shoulders. "You're in control here."

"Let's go."

The boy stepped in behind him and Ed walked slowly towards the door. If being used as a shield was what it took to keep the youth calm, then the cop would do it willingly.

.

Sam watched Jules through his scope, following her confident steps as she crossed the forecourt. He saw her breathing quicken – just a little, so that someone less observant might have missed it – as she reached the door and stopped. He wondered if she felt exposed, out there alone and without her weapon. He wondered if she felt better knowing he was watching.

"In position," he heard her voice in his ear piece, so clear she could have been right next to him.

"Copy that," Greg replied.

The sniper shifted his aim as the door swung slowly inward, searching for the subject. The scope fell first on Ed's raised and empty palms, and then his calm expression. Glad as Sam was to see his team leader alive and unharmed, he presented the sniper with a problem.

"Door is open," he said into his radio. "Subject is partially shielded behind Ed. Looks like he's wearing Ed's tac vest." Ed's eyes flicked momentarily along the rooftops, paused at Sam's location, and then dropped back to Jules. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, giving Sam a clear scorpio shot. The subject didn't notice, and Sam admired his superior's coolness in the situation**. **

"I have the solution."

"You've got scorpio if you need it," Parker advised him.

"Copy that," he replied.

The gunman's eyes were everywhere – on Ed, on Jules, searching the shadows – everywhere but Sam's rooftop perch. Mark's hand tightened around the gun, and the cop could see the wariness etched deeply into his face even from this distance. He didn't know how much longer he could stand Jules being there, just feet from an armed subject so close to snapping. If the hostile made a move, would he be able to react fast enough to protect her? An image of Jules sprang into his mind unbidden – an image of Jules lying on a rooftop, in pain, struck by a sniper's bullet because of his mistake… He shook the memory away and focussed on the subject more closely. It would not happen here.

Jules slowly lowered the bag from her shoulder, closely scrutinising her team leader's face. She could see he was unharmed, and there was a calm confidence in his eyes: he believed he could talk the subject down. It pained her to see any member of her team in such a vulnerable position – the team was family and Ed was a brother to her. But she trusted his judgement, and if he thought this could be ended peacefully then he was probably right.

Her attention shifted to the subject, though she was careful not to make eye contact – he could easily view it as a challenge. He stood a few feet behind Ed, and watched them both warily. The gun shook slightly in his outstretched arm, but remained pointed at the back of Ed's head. His eyes were wide – but with fear, not substance abuse. Whatever his reason for robbing the pharmacy, it wasn't personal use.

She held the bag out, and Ed slowly lowered one hand and gripped the handle.

"Shut the door," Mark ordered, his voice taut with stress. Ed slowly backed inside and swung the door shut with his free hand. The subject said something else, and in response the cop turned the key in the lock. Jules knew Ed had walked away from worse situations that this, but that didn't make leaving him behind any easier.

"Drop has been made," Sam's voice reported in her ear. "The subject has re-entered the building."

"Copy," Greg replied.

"Sarge, something doesn't feel right," Jules cut in, retreating back across the forecourt. "He's terrified. He should have given himself up already, this doesn't make sense."

"So what's keeping him in there?"

"I don't know, but whatever it is, it must be big."

"Wordy?" Greg addressed his second.

"I'm on it boss."

.

The doctor worked silently over the injured man, his latex covered hands performing miracles that were beyond every other person in the room. Ed glanced at the gunman sitting a few metres from him, and watched some of the tension ebb from him as the patient fell silent.

"You did a good thing," Ed told him, trying to gain eye contact. Mark ignored him, his stare locked on the Blackberry in his hands.

"That was your girlfriend you called earlier?" Ed probed gently.

"Yeah," the youth answered quietly, not taking his eyes from the device.

"You must care about her a lot to risk your life like this," the cop suggested.

"Better mine than hers."

"Is she in some kind of trouble, Mark?"

"It's my fault," he answered forlornly. He lifted his head and Ed could see the guilt burning in his eyes. He waited patiently for him to continue, making his own expression compassionate and non-judgemental. The boy couldn't take the pressure much longer; he needed an outlet.

"I messed with the wrong people. I owe them money, and he said if I did this job he'd write off the debt. Now he's threatening to hurt Jenny because I screwed it up." He rubbed the barrel of the gun against his temple in frustration and avoided Ed's eyes. He was closer to snapping than the cop had thought. Ed chose his words carefully; what happened next could end or escalate the crisis. He didn't think it would take much for the subject to go from frustrated to suicidal.

"We can help you Mark, if you let us." He paused for a moment, watching the youth as he absorbed the information. He lowered the gun, cradling it in his hands.

"Just tell Greg where she is and he'll send someone to pick her up, take her some place safe."

Mark glanced at him sharply.

"He'd do that?" he questioned him suspiciously.

"He'd do that," Ed mirrored with a nod.

"Why?"

"Our job's not about fast cars or fancy weapons. It's about saving lives: Gary's, yours, Jenny's. It's about keeping you safe – all of you." Mark's eyes searched his for a long moment.

"What do I have to do?" he asked quietly.

"Pick up the phone. Tell them where Jenny is. Let us help you."

"Ok," Mark nodded. He drew in a deep breath and rose to his feet. Slowly he crossed the shop floor, tapping the gun against his thigh nervously. He placed the Blackberry gently on the counter and reached towards the store phone. He hesitated, still unsure, and glanced back at the cop. Ed nodded his encouragement, and Mark lifted the receiver.

Greg watched the action on the CCTV and wondered what had been said between him and Ed that had prompted the call. He lifted his own phone to his ear.

"Hi Mark, it's good to hear from you. How are you doing?"

"I'm good," the boy replied, and Greg noticed the subtle difference from last time he had asked that question. Mark had gone from "fine" to "good", and the negotiator knew that his act of mercy had restored the subject's faith in his own humanity.

"Good," Greg echoed, his voice upbeat but reassuring. "I'm glad. And how about Gary, how's he doing?"

"Better," the subject answered. Greg could tell he was building up the courage to broach the real reason for the call. Greg kept talking, boosting his self-esteem and giving him plenty of breathing space. He would get to the point when he was ready.

"That's great. I'm glad to hear that, and I know his family will be too."

Mark stopped pacing, released a slow breath and lifted his head.

"Listen. There's something I need. You do this for me and I'll give myself up."

"I'm listening."

"I've got a friend who's in trouble. Take her some place safe, and this is over."

"What do you mean by 'over', Mark?" Greg probed softly.

"I'll put the gun down and come out, whatever you want."

Greg shot a glance at Wordy, who nodded. This was the reason Mark had held out so long. Neither of the cops doubted his sincerity.

"What sort of trouble is she in?" Greg asked.

"There's a guy who's gonna be pissed that I screwed up. If I don't finish the job, he'll kill her." The sound of Mark's fear filled the command truck, and Greg was quick to reassure him.

"I'm not going to let that happen Mark. You're doing the right thing. Tell me where she is and we'll make sure she stays safe."

"I don't know. She should have called me by now and she hasn't." His voice shook with barely controlled panic.

"Ok, we'll find her," Greg promised. "Give me her cell number and we'll track it."

A buzzing sound filled the air and Mark looked down to see the Blackberry vibrating.

"This has gotta be her, hold on," Mark said, dumping the store phone on the counter without waiting for the negotiator's response. He picked up the mobile, frowning at the screen. One new video message.

He pressed play.

Jenny's image filled the screen and he smiled instantly, but his face quickly fell – something was wrong. Had she been crying? The camera zoomed out to show a figure behind her, masked. Mark's stomach clenched and the blood drained from his face – He had found her. The masked figure pulled a knife from his waistband and the camera zoomed in on the gleaming blade. Off screen, someone laughed.

"No," Mark said, shaking his head as he realised their intentions. As if in response, the camera panned back to Jenny's terrified face.

"No, don't do this," Mark begged the recorded image.

The thug grabbed her and forced her roughly to her knees. Jenny gasped and started to sob silently.

"No, no," Mark denied frantically.

A dirty hand wound itself in Jenny's blonde locks and she struggled without effect. The hand yanked her head back and she moaned in fear as the knife flashed before her eyes. Mark stared at her exposed throat, his face a mirror of her fear. The phone shook in his hands,

and tears filled his eyes, blurring the image. Jenny's piercing scream rang out as the knife pressed against her neck.

The blade slashed quickly, leaving a trail of red in its wake. The scream was silenced. The camera focussed on the bloodied weapon and then zoomed in on the girl's terrified face as the life drained from her. The knifeman tossed her now lifeless body to the floor and pointed his weapon at the camera.

"You're next."


	6. Chapter 6

**AN:** Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, and thanks to the people who have remained interested. This chapter isn't as polished as I would normally like, but due to time constraints I've had to go with it as it is, apologies if it's not as smooth as you deserve after all this time!

Chapter 6

_The blade slashed quickly, leaving a trail of red in its wake. The scream was silenced. The camera focussed on the bloodied weapon and then zoomed in on the girl's terrified face as the life drained from her. The knifeman tossed __her now lifeless body to the floor and pointed his weapon at the camera._

"_You're next."_

_.  
_

Mark vomited.

.

"Mark… Mark, what's going on?" Ed asked, though he had a fair idea. They had all heard the scream and the stark warning.

"She's dead," Mark said blankly, sounding bemused by the words coming out of his mouth. "He killed her." The phone shook in his hands and his face was pale and clammy. He gaze was fixed on the far end of the store but his eyes were blank. Ed recognised the first signs of shock. He would have to act quickly to stop the subject's state of mind deteriorating further.

"Ok, just take a deep breath," he said, moving towards him.

Mark swung the gun up to point at him.

"Stay away from me," he ordered, his eyes rimmed with red.

.

"Careful Eddie, don't push him," Greg muttered as he watched the team leader through the CCTV. He listened intently to the feed coming through the store phone, abandoned where it lay on the counter. His instinct was to call the subject on Ed's cell, but his was the last voice Mark would want to hear right now.

"Spike, how's the trace on that call coming?" he asked.

"Almost there boss."

"Good. Have Sydney dispatch some uniforms as soon as you have it," he instructed.

"Copy."

The sergeant's eyes flicked back to the screen, now just a spectator in the negotiations.

.

Ed raised his hands slowly.

"Ok son, take it easy. I just want to help you."

"Help me?" Mark repeated bitterly. "It's too late for that."

"Mark, that's not true. Listen to me, we're going to catch the guy who did this, and I promise you buddy, we're going to make him pay."

"What difference will it make?" Mark snapped angrily. "It won't change anything, it won't bring her back. She's gone, don't you get that?"

"You can still walk away from this," Ed persisted softly. "We can still walk out of here together. But you've got to put that gun down before anyone else gets hurt."

"She was my world and now she's gone." He looked at Ed with tears in his eyes. "What do I do?"

"You know what you've got to do Mark," Ed answered.

"Yeah, I do," Mark replied, resolve firming in his eyes. He turned the gun on the hostages. Ed's stomach clenched and a tense silence filled the room.

"Get out of here," Mark ordered them softly, his voice resigned, and with a jolt Ed knew what he was planning.

"Mark, this isn't the way." The boy ignored him, his red eyes fixed on the unmoving hostages.

"Go on, get out of here!" he yelled, the gun unsteady in his hand as he aimed it at the group. He grabbed the nearest hostage and hauled him to his feet. "Go!"

Ed nodded to him, recognising Mark's determination. "It's ok, do as he says."

The hostages slowly clambered to their feet, each reluctant to be the first to move. With a nervous glance, the doctor gripped Gary beneath his arms and dragged him towards the door. Ed nodded his silent approval. The hostages edged out through the door, and the gunman turned his weapon on Ed.

"And you."

Ed shook his head.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Don't make me hurt you." The gun shook in his hand as he pointed it at the cop's chest. "Don't." Ed ignored it and focussed on the subject: a scared and vulnerable boy.

"I'm not leaving you buddy."

"Why?" Mark asked, searching his face.

"I meant what I said about walking out of here together."

"And if I don't want to?"

"I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to, but I'm not going to let you hurt yourself either."

Mark's eyes searched his for a long moment before he lowered the gun and slid to the floor. Ed sat across from him, taking care not the crowd the volatile subject. Mark needed time to think, to get over the shock before he did something that couldn't be undone.

.

Greg timed his moment carefully, not giving Mark enough time to fall further into depression. Ed's life was still in danger, and he couldn't risk the subject deciding he should pay for Jenny's death. He wouldn't. The store phone still lay abandoned on the counter, but he knew Mark still had Ed's blackberry. He dialled the cell phone and waited, watching the CCTV as Mark stared first at the cell beside him, and then the phone on the counter. After a moment, he answered.

"Hi Mark, it's Greg."

"What do you want?" the subject demanded stonily.

"I just thought you'd want to know that Gary's doing fine, because of you. The doctors say he's going to be ok. You did a good thing. Thank you."

"I didn't do it for you."

"I know," Greg said, softening his voice. "She would have been proud of you."

No answer came in response.

"But do you know what, Mark?" Greg continued. "It's time to come out now. There's nothing left for you in there."

"There's nothing left for me out there either," Mark spat back.

"I know it seems like that right now Mark, but believe me there is."

"Believe you? Why should I believe anything you say? You said she'd be safe, you said you'd help her!"

"I know Mark, and I'm"

"You don't know!" Mark shouted across the top of him. "You don't know anything! You call here again, and I'll kill us both." He ended the call and stalked across the shop floor to the counter. With a glare at the cheap phone resting on it, he hung it back on the hook. For a moment he paused, and then with a yell of anger he hurled it across the room. It crashed into the wall and fell to the floor in pieces. Breathing heavily, he stared at it, and then slumped back to the floor. Ed waited for his breathing to slow.

"I wanted a new phone anyway," he said. Mark gave half a laugh.

"Sorry."

Ed carefully mirrored his expression.

"Doesn't matter."

At length, the youth raised his eyes to look at the cop curiously. Ed kept his face calm, inviting his question to be asked.

"Earlier, when you said you came in for medicine…" he paused

"For my wife, Sophie" Ed supplied gently. He knew he had one more chance to make a connection with Mark, that this might be his only chance to save his life.

"Was that the truth?" he asked.

Ed nodded, meeting the boy's questioning stare.

"Yeah."

"Is she gonna be ok?"

Ed nodded again.

"She has the flu. She'll be ok," he mirrored consciously.

"What would you do, if it was Sophie… not Jenny?" Mark looked away, as if ashamed of his question.

"I'd do what she would have wanted me to do. What would jenny want you to do?"

"No, it doesn't matter what she'd want, because she's dead. He killed her."

"Who killed her, Mark?"

Mark stared angrily at the shop front.

"He did. Greg."

Ed resisted the urge to defend Greg; Mark had more to say. He waited silently.

"I just had to get out of here. This one job, and it would have been over. He stopped me."

"Do you really believe that? C'mon, you're smarter than that, there's no such thing as a last job."

"Yes there is. He said if I did this, he'd write off the debt."

"But he wouldn't have. You know that. He'd never let you walk away that easily."

"Oh, so it's my fault?" Mark rounded on him. "For being so stupid?"

"I'm not saying that Mark. It's not your fault. It's not Greg's fault. There's only one person to blame. Let me put him away before he hurts anyone else. Let's end this."

Mark rose to his feet and walked away. Ed made no move to follow him. It was Mark's decision to make; Ed could only be there when he made it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author Note: **Bad news and good news. Bad news is this is a *very* short chapter. Good news is I'm back, I fully intend to finish this fic (finally) and I have a couple of others started as well

* * *

Mark crossed the shop floor with a new purpose in his stride. He stopped in front of Ed and pointed the handgun at him.

"You're right. It's time to end this. Get up."

"What are you thinking Mark?" Ed asked, rising slowly to his feet. Mark grabbed the shoulder of Ed's jacket and pressed the gun into the back of his neck.

"Move," he demanded.

"Talk to me Mark."

"Walk, now!" He jammed the weapon harder into the cop's neck. Ed raised his hands.

"Ok, take it easy buddy." He started walking forward, allowing himself to be steered, but he already knew where they were going.

"Open the door."

"Mark, if you go out there like this, someone's going to get hurt."

"Maybe that's the idea," Mark muttered so that Ed barely heard it. The cop turned to face him, concern etched deeply into his face.

"Mark…"

Frustration flashed through the Mark's eyes, and Ed knew he had pushed him too far. The gunman raised the weapon and slammed its barrel down into the cop's face. The force of the blow threw Ed to the floor, and he felt blood flowing freely from his cheek. Pain rushed along the wound and he gritted his teeth, but quickly forced himself to relax. Any sign of resistance could cause the subject to escalate further. Ed knew shock was making Mark over-react, but that wouldn't make a bullet any less fatal.

"Get up," the gunman demanded. Impatiently Mark grabbed his jacket and hauled him to his feet, then shoved him forwards. Ed steadied himself, still dazed from the blow.

"Open the door," Mark ground out. Ed nodded and moved forwards slowly. He felt the gun make contact with the back of his neck, and fought to keep his breathing even. Was this what Mark was working himself up for? To kill him in front of a dozen trained cops, knowing it would mean both of their deaths?

He pulled the door inwards. A bead of sweat ran down his face and mingled with his blood, stinging the open wound. Outside, bright lights glared from behind wooden barriers, illuminating the shop front. He felt Mark grip the back of his jacket and press the gun harder into his neck. He raised his hands again and listened to the sounds of Mark's ragged breathing behind him. He stumbled as the gunman pushed him through the door, but the hand gripping his jacket steadied him.

"Drop your weapon! Drop your weapon!" a barrage of challenges were issued, and Ed felt the boy's hesitation. The mass of armed cops would be enough to make anyone's resolve waver, and Ed was glad they were on his side. He was even gladder that Greg was on the scene, making sure none of them got trigger happy. He picked his friend's face from the crowd, and took confidence from the steely determination in his eyes.

"Parker!" Mark yelled from behind him, oblivious to the identity of the Sergeant. "Parker, get out here!"

Greg took a step forward, detaching himself from the mass. He kept his hands out to his sides to show that he wasn't carrying a weapon.

"I'm glad to see you're ok, Mark. I was worried about you after our last conversation."

"Bullshit! You don't care about me, just like you didn't care about Jenny. You care about him though, don't you?" he added, jerking Ed's jacket. Ed kept his face passive.

"I care that no-one else gets hurt," Greg carefully deflected the question. "Enough people have been hurt today, Mark."

"You know what it's like to lose someone you care about, Parker?" Mark challenged him. "Someone you really care about? She's dead because of you." His eyes started to redden, and he drew in a ragged breath. His voice hardened. "So no, I don't think enough people have been hurt today. Not yet."

"Come on Mark, that's not going to solve anything. You know Ed's not to blame for any of this."

"Jenny wasn't either."

The gunman lifted the weapon and pressed it to the back of Ed's head. The cop could see the word "Scorpio" forming on Greg's lips, and with a jolt realised Mark's plan. He hadn't gone outside here to shoot anyone. He had gone outside to be shot. Suicide by cop.

"Hold your fire!" he shouted to the poised cops.

"Hold your fire," Greg said softly into his mic, raising his eyebrows at the hostage cop.

"Mark's not going to shoot me," he said, slowly turning to face the subject. The gun hovered in front of his forehead, but he ignored it.

"Are you willing to bet his life on it?" Mark demanded of the negotiator.

"I am," Ed answered for him. "You're not a killer, Mark. I know what you want these guys to do, but it's not going to happen. This isn't how it ends."

Mark looked frantically from the hostage to the negotiator, and saw that he was right. The disappointment was masked quickly by anger in his eyes, and gave way to sadness. He moved the pistol so that it was level with his own head.

"Mark, just take it easy son," Ed cautioned him. "Jenny wouldn't want this."

"Stay back," Mark warned. He backed into the shop and shut the door.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

As the subject disappeared back into the pharmacy, Ed turned on his heel and headed over to the Sergeant.

"You ok, Eddie?" Greg asked him, taking in the wound on his team mate's face, and searching his eyes.

"I'm fine," Ed brushed aside his concern. "I need a vest and a gun."

"Ed…"

"I'm going back in there Greg, with or without them."

"I know," Greg acknowledged with a nod. "You're going to need this." He handed him a headset.

"Thanks," Ed nodded, fitting the gear around his head.

"Take Wordy and Jules to back you up."

The two cops appeared beside Ed as he fitted his tac vest. Wordy held out his gun. Ed accepted it with a nod.

"Let's go."

.

Ed raised his weapon and stepped through the pharmacy door, scanning the store as he moved. He heard the creak of rubber soles but nothing more as Jules and Wordy entered behind him. He moved silently forward, and saw the subject with his back pressed against the counter to the rear of the store. He was sitting cross legged, staring down at the pistol in his hands. Ed drew back and motioned for Wordy and Jules to circle off to his left and right. They nodded and disappeared. Ed moved slowly forward, and then stopped. Mark was in shock and could react badly to his sudden reappearance, and Ed knew he would seem less threatening if he wasn't moving.

"Mark," he called softly, lowering his weapon slightly so the boy could see his face. Mark looked up at him wearily, and then dropped his gaze.

"Mind if I join you?" Ed asked. Mark shrugged, refusing to make eye contact. Ed crossed the floor and lowered himself onto the tiles a few feet from the subject.

"You need to get him talking Ed," Greg prompted in his ear. "The shock's starting to wear off, he's depressed and exhausted."

"You never really blamed Greg, did you?" Ed asked, but he knew the answer. The whole thing had been a stunt. "Tell me about Jenny – what was she like?"

"She was…" Mark swallowed. "She was beautiful, she had this bit of hair that hung down by her face, that she used to play with when she was nervous." Mark mimed the action as he spoke. Ed smiled encouragingly.

"She had this great laugh, when she laughed it made you want to laugh too. She has this little dimple on her forehead…" Mark rubbed his forehead with a finger and tears starting rolling down his face.

"She… She…" Mark gave up and the tears started falling faster.

"It's ok son," Ed said, reaching an arm around his shoulder. The boy sobbed against him and the cop gently slid the gun from his unresisting hands. Ed saw Wordy from the corner of his eye but shook his head. There was no fight left in the youth.

After a moment, Mark pulled away. Ed gripped his shoulder briefly. The boy's eyes seemed twice their size, scarred red with grief. He scrutinised the cop's face for a moment, weighing something up. Ed waited patiently.

"His name's Jordan. Reed, I think. He has a lock up on Chilton Road. It's where he… I recognised it in the video."

Ed nodded.

"Winnie, dispatch Team 3 to Chilton Road," Ed heard Greg's voice in his ear.

"We'll get them," he promised. Mark leaned his head back against the counter and closed his eyes. In silence Ed watched the rise and fall of his chest, allowing relief to wash over him. Against all odds, it was over without loss of life. Except one, he amended. Uniforms would soon be paying a visit to Jenny's family. He hoped Sophie would never be the recipient of such a visit.

Ed frowned. Mark's chest was still.

"Mark?"

No response. He reached over and gripped the boy's shoulder. His head lolled forward.

"Mark?" he repeated, urgently tugging the glove from his right hand. He extended two fingers and pressed them to Mark's neck. No pulse.

"EMS," Ed called into his mic. "Get me EMS!"

Wordy appeared at his side and together they laid the boy flat. Ed knelt over him and interlocked his fingers, pumping urgently on the subject's chest and counting out each compression. He broke his rhythm to breathe air into Mark's motionless lungs.

"Copy that," Greg replied. "What's happening?"

"Mark's not breathing," Wordy answered. "His heart's stopped."

"Don't you dare. Come on, Mark," Ed urged. His eyes drifted as he counted the compressions, and fell on a discarded syringe.

"Looks like he's taken an overdose."

Wordy followed his gaze and grabbed the empty vial besides the syringe.

"It's Atropine."

"Come on, Mark," Ed growled in frustration.

"Ed…" Wordy put a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm not giving up on him!" he snapped, shrugging off his comrade's hand. He heard boots rushing across the floor as the EMTs finally arrived. They crouched beside the boy, one setting up a defibrillator and the other preparing a shot.

.

Aware he was in the way, Ed let his hands drop and backed off, watching the EMT flick the needle and inject its contents into the unconscious subject.

"Clear," the other said, and discharged the defibrillator. Ed watched in silence as the lifeless body sank back to the floor.

"Clear," the medic repeated, shocking the youth again. The cop's heart thudded urgently in his chest in stark comparison to Mark's silent muscle. His eyes flicked between the fallen subject and the medic's face, rigid with tension as he watched for his reaction.

"He's back with us," the medic said briskly. "Let's get him on the stretcher." He looked across at the two cops.

"We need to get him to the hospital."

"I'll come with you," Ed volunteered, helping to lift Mark onto the stretcher.

"Sarge?"

"Go ahead Winnie," Greg answered the voice on the radio.

"Team Three have found Jenny's body. They arrested Reed and two of his foot soldiers on the scene."

"Copy that, thank you Winnie."

Inside the ambulance, Ed sat beside the stretcher, watching the steady rise and fall of Mark's chest. He would have a lot to deal with when he came around, but at least he wouldn't have to worry about Reed; he would be going away for a long time.

The boy's eyes slowly opened. As they focussed on the officer, he frowned in confusion.

"Lane?"

"That's right Mark."

"Why…?"

As the ambulance rumbled to life and drove away, Ed placed a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"I told you I wasn't leaving buddy."

* * *

**A/N: If you enjoyed reading "A Bad Day" please leave me a review and let me know. I'm working on several new pieces, so watch this space!**


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